


Everything To Me

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-18 16:29:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: Stiles is excited. He’s so excited. He’s been planning for weeks, doing so well at not letting Peter onto his plan. He’s so close, everything is almost perfect - until he returns home to find their house empty, no sign of Peter other than a breakup note.God, how did Stiles fuck up so bad?





	Everything To Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PixeledAerion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixeledAerion/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy! My Steter Secret Santa 2017 fic!

Stiles was  _ excited _ . His cheeks hurt from the force of his grin, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to actually stop smiling. It just - this was a big fucking thing and he felt on top of the world. He knew he probably looked ridiculous, stupid with the way he was grinning as he strolled down the street.

It was just that he’d been planning for so long, had done so well to keep quiet and to not lead Peter on. The wolf had no idea what he was planning, and Stiles was proud of himself. It was well-known that he was horrible with secrets, that they sat around in his head, spinning and spinning and spinning until he had to tell someone. They itched under his skin, wanting, begging to be let out.

Not this time, though. He had kept it from Peter, had kept it from  _ everyone  _ but his dad. He had to tell someone and it wasn’t as though his father was going to betray his trust, not with this. Stiles was still grinning when he climbed into his jeep - Roscoe still going strong even after all their years together - and made his way onto their street, happily singing along with the radio before he jerked his wheel to the side, haphazardly pulling up to the curb.

He couldn’t go home, not like this. He wouldn't be able to calm down enough, and there was no way Peter wouldn’t figure out that Stiles was planning something. Hell, he couldn’t even wipe the stupid, sappy smile off his face for more than a few seconds. Yes, Peter would know, and then the months of work would be for naught, all the times he’d held his tongue and chastised himself for even  _ thinking _ of telling Peter. It would have all been pointless!

Everything had to be perfect, after all. It had to be as amazing as Peter himself, and that was no easy task. So Stiles had carefully planned, and stressed, and stressed a bit more, and then went to his father for help. He had remained calm and tight-lipped and hadn’t let a single thing slip, and he wouldn't - couldn’t - now. Not when the night was approaching and he had just bought the ring.

The ring!

Stiles smiled wide again, pulling the velvet box out of his pocket. It was still wrapped in plastic, which Stiles removed carefully, gingerly touching the box and lifting its lid. The ring was simple enough: a thick, solid silver band that Stiles loved. He’d originally planned on getting Peter something more complex, a little flashier, but he easily decided against it.

Peter was a drama queen, that much was true. He put care into his appearance, always presenting himself in his best light. He had his clothes tailored and wore expensive watches and adopted a certain persona. Stiles had thought that maybe Peter would want something fancier, something more expensive. But - Stiles woke up next to Peter everyday, traded lazy kisses with morning breath and chapped lips. He saw Peter’s back hair and watched the man shave his toes.

And Peter let him do so, opened himself and his life up so beautifully. Stiles would always be thankful for it, for how much of Peter he was privy to. The Peter that was expensive suits and fancy hair products and his sports car was a  _ persona; _ it wasn’t really the man he loved. And yes, the Peter Hale that was presented to the world would want diamonds in his band, would want some fancy and expensive affair.

But his Peter? The Peter he had been in love with for years? He knew his Peter would prefer something simple, something honest and true and for  _ him _ . And diamonds would have been for everyone else to see, would have been to show off. This ring was from Stiles’ heart to Peter’s, was to hold them together  _ forever _ , till death do them part. And it was perfect.

Stiles smiled, rubbing at his eyes as they burned, overjoyed.

He carefully wrapped the box back up, gently sliding it into his pocket before starting up his Jeep and turning around. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide from the wolf if he went home, so instead he went to his dad's. He would spend the night there, and maybe the next, and he’d calm down enough that he’d be able to go back home and pretend like everything was normal, would be able to see Peter without ruining the surprise.

Besides, he wanted to show his dad the ring he finally picked out, anyway!

* * *

Peter was smart. In fact, it was one of the things he prided himself on being. He knew his strengths, and his mind was one of them. So he wasn’t blind to what was happening, what was going on. He wasn’t an idiot, could see the signs as they came about - he wasn’t left blind-sided. He had been able to prepare himself as soon as he caught on.

Peter was also a survivor. His self preservation instinct was a mile wide, and he knew how to protect himself, had been doing it for years now. He’d been on his own long before he’d lost nearly all his family in the fire. A lone wolf inside his pack, feared for keeping them all safe from harm. It didn’t matter that the orders he carried out were his sister’s; he was shunned nonetheless.

So he had learned to keep himself safe, and not just physically. He had long ago closed off his heart. He’d felt love before, once, but wasn’t meant to be. If their conflicting names weren’t enough of a hint, his lover's sister burning his family alive was. After that he had closed himself off. Experiencing heartbreak once was more than enough.

It was a fluke that Stiles managed to worm his way inside, to carve out a home within Peter’s chest. The boy - the boy was special, always had been. He was a slight thing, long and lean, pale and absolutely gorgeous. Peter would never tire of looking at him. But he was intelligent, too. Stiles’ mind worked in a way that kept Peter on his toes, kept him moving and guessing and never letting him rest.

Stiles was a thunderstorm, he scented of ozone and morning dew, and Peter loved him.

That was his first mistake, maybe. 

Peter knew his flaws, too - he wasn’t ignorant of the wrongs he’d committed. He was a monster, and he had no problem with the blood on his hands, his arms. He was controlling, too. For far too long he was stuck in his mind, helpless to the touch of others, unable to do so much as move his fingers. Because of that he now needed it, craved it. He could be rude - sometimes his words were too sharp, stung too much. 

Sometimes he fell into himself, finding it hard to leave his own mind after spending so many years trapped within it. He could be possessive, and was quick to jealousy. He wasn’t nearly as trusting as he should have been, especially with Stiles - the boy never once giving him a reason to be wary. It wasn’t his fault, though. His mindset was shaped by the experiences of his past, the ways he’d been treated by others he let close. It only made sense to be cautious when he’d only ever known hurt.

But Peter still loved him. He loved Stiles with everything he had, and all that he was. And it had been okay, for a while. A few years, at least. But he was smart enough to see what was going on, had seen it from the beginning - the first days that Stiles began to pull away. He wasn’t blind to what his actions had caused, what he had forced.

So he packed his bag. It wasn’t as though Stiles was home to stop him, though he very much doubted the boy even would anymore. It was obvious Stiles was waiting them out - why, Peter wasn’t sure. If he had fallen out of love, he would have just told the boy. It would have been kinder than what Stiles had done.

Peter finished folding the last of his clothes, glad they had ordered a full luggage set the first time they went on vacation. It was coming in handy now, one suitcase packed full of clothes and shoes. Peter had began packing up his office in the other, carefully storing away case files he might or might not need.

He wasn’t sure if he was going to stay in the city. He didn’t think it necessarily wise to stay so close, but building an entire new clientele would be bothersome. Of course, if he stayed in-state he could still practice easily enough, and he could charge more if he added in a transportation fee. He knew his clients would pay for him.

He let out a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders and doing his best to stay detached. There was only one way he was going to be able to do this, and that was to keep calm, not to let himself think too deeply. He wouldn’t be able to walk out if he got his heart involved. He was good at detaching himself when need be - had to be, to do the sorts of jobs Talia had required of him - but he was being tested now.

His skin was itching with everything he wasn’t allowing himself to feel. It was fine, he could deal with it when he was gone - alone and safe. He wouldn’t - he couldn’t stop. Instead he kept packing, piling his belongings, his  _ life _ into three suitcases. He slid the key through their unused mail slot after locking the door behind him. Stiles would find it when he eventually came back.

* * *

Stiles had been gone for more than a night or two. Truthfully, it wasn’t his fault. He’d just been so excited, putting the final touches on the Preserve, that he hadn't been able to go home. There was no way he would be able to hide his excitement from Peter if he saw the man. Aside from that, work had been crazy, teaching and tutoring and after school programs piling up and up near the end of the school year. 

It felt as though he was always doing something during the day, busy and moving and never stopping, never getting a chance to rest. After school found him doing more work - the life of a teacher. Then there was preparing everything, making sure that everything was  _ perfect _ . It had to be perfect.

So he hadn’t had a chance to get home - his dad's house was closer to both the school and the preserve - and he was thankful to be finally driving there. It felt like he hadn’t seen Peter in months, like he hadn’t spoken with the man in ages. Stiles frowned as he waited for the light to turn green. It really  _ did _ feel too long. Had Peter been responding to his texts? 

They didn’t often talk over the phone - Stiles too often in class and Peter sporadically in court. They saw each other every night anyway, so it wasn't like they needed the constant communication in the same way they had all those years ago when they first got together. Stiles sighed, trying to remember just when the last time he heard from his boyfriend was. 

He pulled into their driveway, frowning at the absence of Peter’s car. It wasn’t wholly unusual for Peter to be home after him, though it didn’t usually happen on Fridays. Peter left the office early if he was able to, preferring to start off the weekend by playing soft blues as he swayed around the kitchen putting together some intricate dinner. Peter loved to cook, and Stiles selfishly encouraged him.

Still, Stiles was home nearly two hours earlier than he normally would be, a PD day that he only went to school for since he had a meeting. It would make sense for Peter to still be at work. He sighed, getting out of the car and letting himself rest for just a moment. It had been a long week, and he couldn’t wait for Peter to get home, to curl up close and warm with the other man in bed. It would be so nice, such a welcome reprieve from his week. And he was sure that he would be able to keep the secret now that the day was upon them.

He smiled softly to himself, a little bit of his earlier giddiness returning. He had picked the sixteenth of April for a reason, after all. While their anniversary might not be until November, April was the first time Stiles had seen Peter in Los Angeles, the first bit of home he had glimpsed in the months and months since he’d first moved away.

He’d been having a hard time, jumping right into his summer classes full-force, trying his hardest to burn through the material. He was still tired from finals, and work, and trying to keep up some semblance of a social life. 

So he had been exhausted and missing,  _ craving _ home, when he saw Peter across the street. And glimpsing the man, if only for a moment, had brought calm to his frayed nerves. It didn't matter that they hadn’t officially re-met until two months later, or that they only started dating after another four. That day in April was important to him. It had given him the boost to keep going.

He stepped through the front door, taking a moment to breath in  _ home _ . He frowned when he heard a metallic clink, and looked down, his frown deepening. There - the key must have been sitting right in front of the door, and he had kicked it, sending it sliding along the floor until it hit their front table. He put his own keys in the bowl absentmindedly, crouching down to pick up the object with a frown. He tried it in their door and - yes, it was for their house. But there were only two keys? He had his, obviously, so that would mean - that would mean. 

_ Peter _ . 

He tried to calm his breathing, to do his best not to jump to the worst case scenario. It - Peter hadn’t left him. Maybe he had another key made? Had dropped his? Well no, because the door had been locked when Stiles arrived. But there had to be a reason. He moved farther into the room, pulling in as much air as he could as he shook.

There was a piece of paper laying flat on the table, bright yellow and softly lined - ripped from one of Peter’s legal pads. Peter’s writing was as beautiful a scrawl as it ever was, neatly looping letters stark black as he stared down. He - he had no idea what he was reading, couldn’t make sense of the words even as he read them again and again.

_ My darling boy, _

_ I love you. I feel as though that needed to be said at the beginning, in case you may have forgotten. I also don’t blame you for not loving me in turn. Loving you has always been easy, something I never decided to do and never wanted to stop. I still don’t, and that might make me an idiot, but what is a man in love if not a fool?  _

_ I want you to know that it’s okay, that I don’t fault you for not loving me. I know the challenge I place on others, how difficult I am. I want you to know the house and everything in it is yours. I never told you this, but I bought it during a time when I thought we might grow a family here, have pups to call our own one day. I would like you to still have a family - you have so much love inside of you to give. _

_ I wish you the best, dear. _

_ Love always, your wolf. _

How - how could he have let Peter think that?  _ When  _ had he let Peter think that? Yes, he’d stayed at his dad's for the week, but the house air tasted stale, no discernible scent in the air. He checked the fridge - alright, no groceries had been done since the last time he went out, which was two days before he stayed at his dad's. 

Peter must have left the second night of his absence, if not the first. He - he just didn’t understand why Peter would think Stiles didn't want him,  _ how _ Peter could think Stiles didn’t want him. His pocket felt far too heavy, and he took a shaky breath, wrapping his arms tight around himself to try and keep from splitting apart. 

Had he been that distant? Yes, he had been more reserved than usual, holding himself back during the planning process. But he hadn’t drawn away enough for Peter to think he had stopped loving him.  _ Had he _ ? Did he really think that Stiles wanted to be apart, that he ever  _ could _ stop loving Peter?

Stiles was angry. Their relationship only worked because of its solid basis of communication and trust. They were open with one another, showing all they kept hidden to others and trusting the other to keep their secrets held close and safe. That’s where their loved stemmed from and it was so  _ good _ , so good, and it always made Stiles feel so honoured that he held something like Peter’s heart in his hands.

He knew it wasn’t something anyone else had the privilege to see, let alone  _ hold _ . But Stiles had given his heart in turn. Had entrusted Peter’s clawed fingers to keep it safe and whole and healthy, and he had thought that Peter had done the same. It had always felt like they were on level footing, like they were sure where the other stood.

Sites had never once had to question the longevity of their relationship. It might be silly to say, but he’d never doubted that he and Peter were in it for the long haul. He might not be sure when long-term switched towards forever, but the change in thinking had been effortless. He hadn't been bothered, either, easily accepting the shift in mentality. He was going to spend the rest of his life with Peter Hale. That had never been a question.

And he was angry. Angry because Peter had been feeling like this for -  _ fuck, Stiles didn’t even know how long  _ and he had never came to him. That wasn’t - that wasn’t how they worked, how they treated one another. The healthiest part about their relationship was their communication. They never shied away from hard topics, never avoided a conversation because it would hurt too much to have.

Rather, they had been honest at every turn. At least, Stiles had always been. But he had no idea how long Peter had been feeling this way. And why would he leave the note? Did he - Stiles all but ran to their bedroom, fingers shaking when he tried to push open their door. He slammed open their closet, his breath catching when he saw it.

Peter was gone. Peter was  _ gone _ and it felt like his heart was being ripped apart, like  _ he _ was being ripped apart - so much worse than when he first saw the letter. This was real, this was really happening, and Peter was  _ gone _ . He used shaky hands to pull at his phone, desperate as he tried to slide it out of his pocket and type in his password - failing and failing again because he couldn’t see past the moisture in his eyes.

“Daddy,” he said weakly, the first tear spilling over as he cried out, clutching at himself harder.

What was he going to do?

* * *

He was fine. As long as he continued to tell himself that, he would be alright. It didn’t matter if his last pack bond was slowly flickering away into nothing, had been for a while. It didn’t matter. _He_ didn’t matter, not anymore. An important part of survival, as Peter had come to learn, was to not look back, to live in the present. Getting stuck in the past would eat away at him, would tear him up and reduce him to nothing.

So he didn’t - he pushed forward. He took on an extra client at work, pouring himself into the case. It was hard, something anyone else would see as a sure loss, but Peter wasn’t anyone else. People came to Peter Hale because he knew what he was doing, because he was brilliant and ruthless in equal measure. He didn’t lose, hadn't in years. He didn’t lose cases, anyway. No. It didn’t matter, he would just have to remind himself of that.

Peter was too familiar with loss to let it best him.

Finding a place to stay was easy enough. The large, comfortable couch in his equally large and comfortable office wasn’t just for show. In fact, it pulled out into a queen-sized bed, and no one had to know his liquor cabinet was filled with linens. The floor his office was on had a nice bathroom, and although there wasn’t a shower, the gym he attended had nice enough ones. If he was now going there on a much more regular basis he could cite the truth - he was single and getting back into better shape.

Everything was fine as long as you only saw the exterior Peter was carefully crafting. It wasn’t new for him, to live a life of carefully crafted masks, never letting anyone see more than he allowed. He didn’t let people in, refused to show others his soft underbelly. He had been taken advantage far too many times to allow it.

And then, and then  _ he _ happened. Peter let someone see through the mask, had let him _ take it off and throw it away _ . But Peter knew that it had just been playing house, had been a fantasy he crafted for himself and allowed himself to live in for far too long. Attachments made him weak - that was simple. 

Pack had always made him weak, had always held him back. Peter had no problem being an Omega, had been one for so long after the fire, before the boy had wormed his way into Peter’s life, had refused to let go and move on. Still, Peter was the one who allowed himself to get caught up in the shiny new pack bond, to forget that people were selfish creatures, that  _ humans _ were selfish creatures.

He allowed himself to get lost in whiskey eyes, in rain showers and soft, breathless kisses. He allowed himself to become weak, and he was paying for it in the same way he always had - alone and broken-hearted. The jagged pieces he was made of had once again been chipped away at, and Peter was no longer sure how much of himself was left.

It didn’t matter how aggressively his wolf was snarling at him, didn’t matter how many times it howled with anguish. He didn’t listen, pushed it to the back of his mind and locked down on his instincts. The beast was howling for  _ mate _ , and as far as Peter was concerned he no longer had one, never had.

Mates were forever. It was something he had thought about, of course. How could he not picture spending the rest of his life with the beautiful boy who - against all reason - had chosen  _ him _ . When they had first gotten together his wolf had prowled in victory, elated to be chosen by one they wanted so. Peter, too, had gone through a short period of disbelieving awe that Stiles, beautiful brilliant Stiles, would want him.

But that changed. It changed and now Stiles didn’t want him, and that was something Peter was choosing to ignore, to push to the back of his mind lest it destroy him. Because that’s what he had done. He had given Stiles the power to break him apart and be the only one able to put him back together.  _ Weak, _ he snarled at his wolf as it whined,  _ stupid _ he spat as it cried for their boy, for their mate.

But he had work to do, a court to get to and a case to win.

Misery would wait another day.

* * *

“Peter Fucking Hale!” Stiles shouted, slamming the courtroom doors open. 

His father was in the car still, though he probably would have followed his son in if he had any idea how Sites was planning on acting. Though, it wasn’t Sitles’ fault he was being a little rash. His mind was still racing too fast and his breath coming too short. He’d been on the brink of a panic attack since he’d first seen the letter, and even his father hadn’t helped to calm him entirely.

His father, who had raced over. Stiles had dissolved into a mess of sobbing half-breaths, falling to the floor and desperately trying to keep his heart from splitting out of his chest. His father had found him like that, had seen the open and empty closet and had assumed the worst. Stiles’ broken sobs hadn’t done much to clear up the situation, though he held Stiles tight anyway.

It was easier to stay together with his dad around him. He had watched his dad lose his mom, had watched him fall apart and slowly piece himself back together, and Stiles knew he would be able to do it, too. Not that he was planning on having his heart broken, no sir. No, instead Stiles had wiped harshly at his eyes, dragging in lungfuls of air and trying his best to stay calm.

He had checked his phone, furiously looking up their shared Google Calendar and never being more glad to have access to Peter’s work schedule. He had marched outside, demanding his father taking him to the courthouse this instant. And now he was here, storming down the aisle. He knew he looked a mess, hair askew and eyes red and puffy. He was pretty sure he was  _ still  _ crying, though if anything it was from anger.

“And who exactly are you?” the judge asked right as Stiles stepped up to the little wooden swinging door that separated the rows of seats from the trial itself. 

“Oh, I’m this fucker’s fianc é !” Stiles spat, turning to look at Peter who had scrambled out of his chair when Stiles had stormed in, though now the man was just standing there staring with wide, unbelieving eyes at Stiles.

“Peter Ian Hale, I swear to everything holy you better have a damn good reason for this!” Stiles demanded, slamming the letter into Peter’s chest with more force than he might have needed to.

But Peter didn’t answer. Instead he was still blinking wide-eyed at Stiles, his mouth dropping open into a small ‘o’. It just made Stiles more annoyed, and he punched at Peter again, and then again, because he knew the wolf could take it.

“I-” the wolf began, but Stiles cut him off, furious.

“No! You don’t get to talk!” Stiles snapped, pulling back the paper and turning it to thrust in front of Peter’s face, “This. Is not. How we work!”

“I-”

“Not yet, dammit! We  _ talk, _ Peter! You are not allowed to break us up yourself and  _ move out _ because you have some distorted view of how I feel about you!”

“Alright,” Peter said, nodding slowly as he continued to stare.

“Now, you are going to come with me, we are going to go to the preserve, and I am going to fucking propose like I _have been planning_ _for the last four months_!

“That’s why-” Realization seemed to dawn in Peter’s eyes, and the man sucked in a breath, shaking his head softly. 

“Yes, you dumbass! That is why I have been distant and why I stayed with my dad! I didn’t want to ruin the fucking surprise!” Stiles said, voice finally lowering from the shout it had been at, even though his hands were still waving wildly in his aggravation. 

Peter didn’t respond right away; instead he stared for a moment at Stiles before looking at the rest of the court, then turning to the judge, who was watching them with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

“I’d probably listen to him,” Peter’s client said. “If I ever saw my wife that upset I’d be begging before she even told me what I did.”

A second well dressed man stood from his seat besides Peter’s client and began to pull papers out of his own briefcase, giving Peter a long look before he stepped forward in the court, drawing the attention towards himself.

Peter just nodded dumbly, turning to collect his things as Stiles stood there, breathing deep. He tried to calm himself to get into a better mindset. This was a big night, a big deal and he didn’t want to go into the whole thing upset. He was going to fucking propose!

Holy fuck,  _ he was going to propose! _

* * *

Peter couldn't stop looking around.

The Preserve had always been beautiful, had always sung to his wolf in a way the city never did. He was thankful that they had moved back, that Stiles had decided he wanted to settle down back in Beacon Hills. Of course he would have stayed in Los Angeles if Stiles had wanted them too, but Beacon Hills was home, was  _ Hale Land  _ and it always would be, there could be no doubt about that. 

But the Preserve had never looked like this. Sitles’ spark would always be a small thing, that was something they had come to terms with. The magic of his blood was just too watered down, the source of his power too far removed for him to ever do much. Small things he was apt at, though, and he seemed to have pulled out all his tricks while readying the forest. 

When they had first pulled up to the Preserve Stiles had informed Peter that he had to wear a blindfold for the first bit. He had agreed, of course. The salt of Stiles’ tears was still heavy in his scent, and Peter could still hear the irregular beat of his heart - he wasn't going to further upset the boy by refusing such a simple task.

So he put the blindfold on, hopeless when it came to this one man. Peter knew he would always relent to Stiles’ will, that no matter what they were to each other he would be helpless in his affections. Stiles had led him carefully through the woods, far gentler than Peter had been expecting.

It was like Stiles’ previous anger had drained from him, leaving only a careful, tentative excitement behind. Peter took a breath when he was brought to a stop and fingers ghosted over neck, tangling in the hairs at his nape before tugging off the blindfold. Peter’s eyes blinked open and he -

He couldn't believe what he saw. They were standing in the middle of the Preserve having walked fair bit into the woods. In front of him was a path devoid of trees: a walkway of soft, bright grass, with thousands of flowers lining it. Lights were twinkling and hanging in the air, little manifestations of Stiles magic floating and lighting the pathway with a soft glow.

Peter took a step forward, holding his breath and trying to focus. He - he almost gave this up, gave up the boy walking just a step behind him. The flowers were changing around him, more and more popping up as he walked, and the air was lifting gently around them. On his own, Stiles’ magic wasn’t overwhelming - his spark was like a hardly more than a candle, just a small flicker of warmth in his chest. It was small and tame, but the Preserve had claimed Stiles as its own long ago, rejoicing when the magic-user walked its woods.

That’s what it seemed to be doing now - the magic of the woods twining with Stiles’ spark and bending to the boys will - and as the pathway opened up into a smaller clearing Peter could hear music, the same slow-swaying romance he was used to listening to at home. It was pouring softly from a speaker Stiles had set u,p and a little ways away a plush-looking blanket was laid out, adorned with pillows. Smaller versions of the lights floated around their heads. 

Stiles darted forward, pulling food out of the cooler and setting it down: finger sandwiches, cubes of cheese, pickles. There was a whole spread, and Stiles smiled up at him, beckoning him over. He had to shake his head, blink his eyes and let his shift come over to heighten his vision just to make sure what he was seeing was real, that his mate, his  _ mate _ was doing this for him.

He finally got his legs to work, forcing himself to walk closer and closer until he was standing right in front of the boy. He went to lower himself onto one of the pillows, a soft smile stuck on his face when Stiles waved at him.

“No, no wait. Let - let me do this first.” The boy took a deep breath and Peter cocked his head.

Even though he had known what was bound to happen, he still felt his heart skip, his breath catch when Stiles raised himself onto one knee and finally pulled out the box, black and satin and shining in the soft light.

“Peter Ian Hale, my wolf,” Stiles’ voice was rough, and Peter could remember using the term in the letter. He wondered how much it must have hurt for Stiles to read. Maybe more than it had for him to write.

“My wolf, you are my life. You came into my world exactly when I needed you to, picked me up and put me back together, and you don’t even know. I saw you, seven years ago on this day. You were exactly the reminder I needed, exactly what kept me going. And then we reconnected and you turned out to be this incredible man, so much more than I ever could have imagined you to be. 

“Peter, you are  _ everything _ to me,  _ everything _ . I don’t ever want to live without you, haven’t even thought about it since months after we first got together. You have always been it for me, since our first date, Peter. I may not have known right then, but I knew on the sixth, and the seventh, and the tenth. I’ve known I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you for  _ years _ , and I am so damn sorry you didn’t know that.

“I - I love you, so much. More than I know how to put into words. Peter, you are my whole world. I refuse to lose you, I won’t, I  _ can’t _ . Will you marry me? Till death do us part, Peter, marry me?”

Peter was already nodding, dropping himself to his knees and crying, desperately rasping out  _ ’Yes, please, god yes. Always, always my mate, forever. Yes,’ _ planting his face into the boy's neck and breathing in home and mate and safety. He melted into Stiles’ hold when the man wrapped his arms around him, supporting them both, and Peter hugged back desperately.

He pulled back only enough to slip the ring onto his finger, laughing and shaking his head and feeling burst open, raw and exposed and  _ safe _ .

Stiles pulled Peter closer, his heart still pounding away in his chest. The speech had been harder to get through than he thought it was going to be, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t tripped over his words. He was so close to choking up, near tears so many times - still near tears. And to watch Peter stand there, than man steadily crying and nodding his head the entire time just spurred him on, caused his heart to swell further in his chest.

* * *

He hugged Peter tight, letting the wolf sob into his neck and petting his hair, rubbing his back. If he knew Peter, and he did, the man hadn’t let himself process happened at all. Sure, he had decided to leave but he must have done it by forcing himself to be detached. So he let the man calm, shout his hurt into Stiles’ skin, ashamed he had placed it there in the first place.

He held the wolf through it, not commenting when Peter’s grip got too tight. He knew that it was going to leave bruises and  _ didn’t care _ , urged the man closer as though he could meld them together, make them one. That’s already how Stiles thought of them, no longer two separate people but a beautiful mix of  _ Peter&Stiles. _ He wasn’t sure where he began and where Peter ended.

Stiles rubbed his chin into Peter’s temple, palm wide over the back of the wolf’s neck, spreading as much of his scent as he could. He knew it would help to quicken the process of merging them together - to calm Peter faster. Peter was still breathing quick and ragged, holding tight.

“I love you,” Peter said into his neck, and it sounded like a promise, felt like one when Peter kissed the skin in front of him.

“I love you too, my wolf, so much,” Stiles swore right back, refusing to ever let the man forget.

“I know,” Peter said, his voice slightly wondering.

“Are you, are you feeling okay?” Stiles asked after another moment of just breathing, still rubbing soothing circles into the small or Peter’s back. 

Peter pulled back slowly, almost as though he didn’t want to let go. Stiles didn't make him, instead staying close and cupping the man's face, resting their foreheads together. He let his eyes close as he breathed, letting them both calm even further. God, Stiles had been through so much today, his emotions running in such extremes that he felt exhausted, wrung out and tired.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles mumbled softly.

“You didn’t do a thing, darling.” Peter said and stiles shook his head.

“I did - Peter I did, I -”

“No, no you were right. I should have come to you. You’re right, that  _ is _ how it works,” Peter’s words were quiet but sure, and Stiles nodded.

“How - how about we both take the blame, yeah? Okay?”

“Alright darling,” Peter agreed, and Stiles smiled again, darting forward to steal a kiss, then another and one more because he could, could  _ forever.  _

“Let’s eat?” he suggested, scooting backwards to the centre of the blanket, the food laid out before them. Peter crowded close to his side, not that Stiles minded.

The meal itself was quiet, Peter’s left hand never leaving Stiles thigh - though he was more than okay with it. He kept looking down, staring at the metal on Peter’s finger.  _ His _ , Peter was his, and everyone would know. He kept running his fingers over the ring, getting so caught up he blinked when Peter held up a cracker for him to bite into and he did with a smile, Peter pressing a long kiss to his forehead.

The night was calm and still around them, the sounds of the forest soft in the clearing as the music continued to play quietly. Peter was humming along, singing a few words here and there between bites, and Stiles settled further into the man's side with a long, contented sigh.

It was another moment of calm before Peter’s hand edged high, groping softly at the boy’s thigh and dotting longer kisses to his neck, sucking and nipping softly. Stiles grinned, moving quickly to straddle Peter’s lap, kissing the man long and sweet before he let it become anything deeper, slowly opening up under the man's tongue.

He ground down, his cock hardening in his pants and grinding into Peter’s stomach, Peter’s equally hard cock rubbing against the cleft of his ass. Stiles whined in his throat, scooting back and taking the wolf with him, pulling the Peter’s weight atop him as he lay back against the blanket. He kissed harder, biting at Peter’s lips and licking into his mouth, desperate. The week Stiles had stayed at his dad's was probably the longest they had ever gone without having sex, and Stiles was already hard in his jeans, rutting upwards into Peter as the man devoured his mouth.

He worked a hand between them, pulling his other out of Peter’s hair when he couldn't get his pants off. He undid his own before going after Peter’s slacks, pushing and pushing, using his ankles to get them further down and wiggling out of his own. Peter swallowed the moan he made when their cocks brushed together, warm skin rubbing against warm skin, and Stiles sighed into it, relaxing further.

He wrapped a hand around both of them, thrusting forward even as he began to pull them off. It was too dry, but he didn’t care. Peter was warm and real over him, and that was all Stiles wanted, all he  _ needed _ . The head of his cock was brushing through the coarse hair thick above Peter’s dick, and the scratchy-rough slide just made it better. He dug his thumb into his slit, doing the same for Peter and moaning at the broken nose the man made.

Peter slumped forward, bringing his own hand down to wrap around Stiles’ and jacking them together, the near entirety of their cocks now surrounded in their grip. Peter trailed open-mouthed, sloppy kisses along Stiles’ jaw, stopping to suck here and there. Stiles knew he was going to be littered with bruises, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not when he could feel the warming metal of Peter’s new ring sliding along his cock. 

“I - can't, I -” Peter began, though he seemed to be having difficulty forming his words. But Peter’s mind was screaming at him:  _ claim _ and  _ take _ and  _ mine _ and  _ mate _ , and Stiles caught on. He shrugged off his shirt, grinning up at Peter as he peeled out of his undershirt. 

“Here,” Stiles mumbled, tapping his shoulder. “Bite me here.”

Peter growled then, rutting more harshly into Stiles’ hip and he  _ bit _ . Stiles screamed out as sharp teeth slide into his skin and  _ burned. _ The pain went straight to his dick, though, and he stuttered through his next thrust, Peter’s hand tightening around his cock. Peter was licking at the bite mark, and his warm saliva was strangely cooling against the sting of the bite.

Peter dug his thumb into Stiles’ slit and Stiles came with a scream, arching his back into Peter and firmly pressing into the man. Peter’s cock ground harder into his own skin, pushing the wolf over the edge. They came together, spurting warm, thick release over Stiles’ bare belly, Peter slumping to the side as he continued to come, shooting off and off and covering Stiles.

Stiles slumped back, rubbing a hand through the mess all over his belly and tirely raising his hand to Peter. The man leaned forward to greedily suck his fingers clean, and Stiles moaned softly at the sight. Peter lay his head on Stiles’ unbitten shoulder, readily opening his lips every time Stiles brought his hand up, until he was fully clean. Peter curled around him then, nosing into his chest and swinging a leg over his hips.

He let his heartbeat calm down, his body pleasantly relaxing and his brain quieted for the first time in  _ weeks _ . The night air was cool. Nature was slowly sliding from spring into summer, and Stiles appreciated the crisper air tonight - sweat beaded all over his body. Peter was warm against him, but he didn’t dare think about moving either of them.

“I’m going to marry you,” Stiles whispered into the silence after a while. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.” Peter said, the awed tone back to his voice.

Sites couldn't blame him; he was a little bit in awe himself.

**Author's Note:**

> alright! This is my second exchange, and I will admit to enjoying a lot more than my first _*side eyes my other fic*_. LOL, this was a blast to write. It was fun and sweet and I really enjoyed working on it. I have been finished it since the last week of November, and have just been waiting to post it, LOL! This was the first time I have _ever_ switched POV like this, and it was so weird! I mean, I really enjoyed it for this fic and it was definitely something that needed to happen for the story, but not something I think I'll be doing soon?
> 
> I'm giving Steter a little break, I think. I have written so much of my babes lately and I have so so much planned for 2018 that I cannot wait for! I'm so freaking excited, omg. A lot of it isn't Steter, and I'm just thrilled to explore a bit more, LOL
> 
> this is my last fic that's being posted in 2017. I wanted to say thank you for all the support i have received. when i first started writing again back in fucking march, i never expected it to become THIS. 100 fics, nearly 300k words. i am so, so thankful to all the friends I made via this fandom, and for everyone who supports what I do. it means the world to me!  
> [my tumblr!](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)


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